


Learning the rules of the game

by bananamanaman



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Makoto Edamura is a huge hypocrite, Mirror Sex, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Riding, Rimming, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamanaman/pseuds/bananamanaman
Summary: Too much sexual frustration can make anybody snap.Makoto Edamura, a closeted gay virgin with the miserable luck of being attracted to one Laurent Thierry, finally snaps.
Relationships: Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 74
Kudos: 732





	1. on the edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunken shenanigans. Both Laurent and Makoto lose their shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1/x (Either 2nd or 3rd chapter is smut; any 'lessons' chapters following the initial 2-3 chapters would depend on whether I want to continue the story or just make smut one-shots)

Do you know how a certain joke is only funny for the first couple of times? And the next hundred times after that you would want to punch somebody if you even hear a single word of it? That was how Makoto felt.

Day in and day out, those bastards would always tease him for being a virgin. He didn’t mind it at first. Chalked it up to some weird western humor that equated virginity to a lesser quality of life.

Excuse him for not having the time to fuck around in Kabukicho or some other shady ass place. He was busy leading a tragic life scamming innocent people, okay? Well, that might not be the prime example for depicting his rollercoaster of a life… but the point still fucking stands.

He was preoccupied! It wasn’t his fault!

Also, it was the year 2020. Isn't it the most basic politically correct bullshit to not judge people by their sexual experience? Or lack thereof?

So what if Makoto was a virgin. You don't see him shaming that _manwhore_ Laurent for his lose hips or the _ever beautiful_ Cynthia for using her beauty to lure people in. He knows, in his heart of hearts, that sex appeal (and the act of sex itself) works wonders in their line of profession.

They can fuck day, night, and _off_ **,** all they want to.

They just don't have to constantly rub it in his face that _he_ wasn’t (although he would never admit it to them no matter how hard they tease him — he would take it to his grave if he had his way). He was a brilliant, smart, and wonderful person even if he never got laid for the rest of his life.

Note the ‘if’ because he most definitely could if he even gave the matter an attempt _but_ it still doesn't matter.

Why? Because it's 2020. That shit is irrelevant now... right?

“RIGHT?!”

“Shut the fuck up, Edamame! Stop having an existential crisis in there and get the fuck out!” Abigail calls out from the hallway and he suddenly remembers that he’s holed himself in the hotel bathroom for the last 5 minutes thinking about how to defend his _choice_ of virginity to people who don’t seem to understand.

Makoto faces his crazed expression in the mirror he’s been muttering to for the entirety of his ‘existential crisis’ (as Abby kindly put it).

His hair was a literal bird’s nest, matching his incredibly disheveled and crumpled suit. Although his face had turned far too red from too much expensive wine, the wild glint in his brown eyes and crazed grin made him look more insane (or high) than drunk.

But enough crazy thinking in front of the bathroom mirror. Time to get out. Makoto splashed his face with cold tap water and _finally_ opened the door, welcoming a _not-quite-but-somehow-maybe-deserved_ face punch from an inebriated Abby who’d been holding it in for quite a time now.

“What took you so long? Were you jerking off again, you fucking pathetic virgin?”

Abby was starting this shit _again._ “Are you that much of a wimp that you’d resort to jacking off your sick small peen in the hotel toilet _while all of us are still here outside_ just to make your non-existent sex life more exciting? You’re disgusting.”

Three seconds. That’s how long it took for Makoto’s brain to process the words before going into static for another ten. All in all, he stood there like a confused Asian pole for thirteen whole seconds.

Meanwhile, in the background…

“What the fuck, Edamame? Did you not hear me? Get the fuck out!” screams Abby.

“Are you not going to answer me? What are you waiting for?!”

“Perhaps you’ve broken him, Abby? You need to be more careful with virgins,” Cynthia jokes.

“You could not fault him for his urges! He’s a young healthy adult male _virgin_ after all in a room with two incredible beauties. ” Laurent exclaims.

“Although I highly doubt that it is us he is attracted to…” adds Cynthia.

The Frenchman only laughs.

Unbeknownst to them, Edamame’s brain had actually checked out and had stopped hearing words after “disgusting”. Cut back to now, thirteen seconds later.

' _Abigail Jones, you have made an enemy of the wrong Japanese today!'_

“What the fuck?! First of all, I was not jerking off inside the bathroom! Why would I do that?! I’m not a sick ungodly deviant like you people! Secondly, I'm so fucking sick like S-I-K-Cof you guys making fun of me for being a virgin like it’s a goddamn disease _when it’s not!_ ”

Abby made an attempt to interrupt but no, this was Makoto’s time to make an irresponsible venting session that he will regret in the morning.

Makoto glares at her. “ _No! Abby,_ you do not get to interrupt! In the first place, I don’t understand why I even had to get punched! There are other toilets in this hotel suite you could use and it’s not my problem if you can’t find them! I have _endured_ your teasing and insults to my chastity _for too damn long_ and it is now time that I stand up for it. Who cares if I’m a virgin? Will it make me a better conman if I fuck every single person in sight like Laurent?”

“Hey!”

“Exactly! It’s 2020 and the social justice warriors in the internet will defend my banner because I am right and you guys are wrong. I am a virgin, yes, and you know what? I’m proud of it! And that’s not a bad thing! Fuck all of you assholes! Bullying someone for his virginity and rubbing it in every moment you get is NOT cool. I don’t exist for your fucking entertainment! _You’ve crossed the last straw!_ ”

With that last word, Makoto stomped angrily to his room and slammed the door as hard as he could. Let Laurent pay the bill, that asshole.

What kind of person did they think he was that he’d cream his pants at the idea of being in the same room as two women?

He wasn’t even straight! He was gay, for god’s sake! Even the frog and all his sexual impure proclivities could not interest Makoto. Nope. Not at all. He had such a big head because he looked even a little bit good and had great hair that all the ladies loved.

Let him fuck everyone in the world for all Makoto cares.

He will only ever fuck them and not develop romantic attachments because asshole manwhores like him who scam innocent Japanese people to join a team they never wanted to join in the first place and then proceed to ignore them for the next available fuck is not capable of emotional trust and connection.

AND YES he was definitely not biased.

He was also absolutely not resentful nor jealous nor bitter nor insecure. Definitely not. Why? Because he was Makoto, a proud and out virgin. He will be a role model to all the virgins in the world bullied by horrible-looking Frenchmen and pretty yet very rude ex-soldiers and conwomen.

With that final thought, Edamura Makoto finally dozed off.

* * *

There was an awkward silence after the remarkable _bang_ of the door smashing into its frame.

“Ugh. I’m not sober enough for Edamame’s bitchfest,” Abby groans, breaking the silence. The girl was, at least, finally granted access to the toilet.

Another loud bang of a door closing was heard throughout the suite.

“Oh wow. That was… something,” Laurent starts what will most likely be the topic of their night from then on.

“Yeah. He just… went k-kaboom! I don’t even know whether I should feel b-bad, p-pity him, or laugh—” Cynthia giggles, obviously very amused with the situation.

“You can feel all three. Humans are complex creatures capable of feeling all three at once,” the Frenchman assures, taking a long sip of the Italian wine he’d been drinking with his partners all night.

What a mess. Entertaining definitely, but still a mess.

The drunken redhead suddenly breaks into laughter, slapping the couch repeatedly. “C’mon, y-you can’t tell me you d-didn’t try to hold your laughter back when he t-tried to spell ‘sick’ and got it wrong.”

More laughter ensues as she attempts to say one more thing, but fails, like that one friend who can’t finish their jokes because they’re too busy laughing.

“Oh and his final words!” she roars, “‘ _YOU’VE FINALLY CROSSED THE LAST STRAW!_ ’ How can you cross a straw?! ‘A-Alas, Mr. Straw, I ‘ave d-decided to b-b-betray you… for the ssssippy cup!’” Cynthia howls, slapping her knees now instead of the couch.

Her wine has spilled with her shaking, but she’s probably too preoccupied with laughing her digestive system off to pay attention to the real world right now.

The blonde would be lying if he didn’t find those moments in the ‘speech’ amusing but that only really reveals that their beloved Japanese partner could definitely use more English lessons. That’s hardly the point of the whole spiel they’ve just… experienced.

“Have you gotten over it yet?” he drawls, longing to get to the part where they psychologically dissect Edamura and his sudden outburst.

Cynthia’s brain finally comes down from the intense cacklefest and joins Laurent in the physical plane. “Yes. I am now ready t-to _really_ talk ‘bout what ‘appened.”

“Good.”

“G-good.”

“Now what?”

“What d-do you mean ‘now what?’”

“Share me your insights on what happened,” Laurent sighs.

Cynthia fixes her disappointed gaze on him as she refills her glass to the brim again, tsk-tsking at him in a disapproving manner. “Y-you mean you seriously don’t know? Don’t be s-stupid! ‘t’s so obvious!”

“It’s not that I don’t have an idea but rather that I don't know _for sure_. And neither can you by the way,” he huffs, a bit defensive and slightly offended at the idea that he’d been branded clueless.

“O’ course I do!” she chortles. “I’m _absolutely sure_ I k-know.”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “Alright then, wise one. Please grace us with your knowledge.”

The conwoman puts down her wine glass for the first time that evening, exasperated. “Can’t believe ‘t’s come to the p-point where I ‘ave to spell this out for you, you d-dense turd.”

“Hey! What’s with you guys insulting me today?” the blonde pouts.

Cynthia rubs her temples, unamused.

“Shhh! Let the woman speak. Thank you. ‘kay, as I was ssssaying…” and then pauses for a whole minute.

“Don’t hurt yourself too much,” Laurent comforts, “ you can always just admit you don’t know for sure.”

That earns him an icy glower. Cynthia continues: “Ah yes! E-Edamame is gay, sexually frustrated, and has the hots for you.” She then proceeds to get her glass again, as if what she had said was nothing short of controversial, as if she had just told him that ‘the sky is blue’ rather than ‘our Japanese friend wants to fuck you’.

“Okay, you’ve had enough wine for tonight. Time to go to sleep.” the blonde sighs, moving forward to remove the glass from the drunk woman’s hands.

Cynthia starts to scream bloody murder and Laurent is forced to cover his poor ears from the sudden assault. At that exact instance, Abby exits the toilet. She must’ve puked her guts out, the poor gal.

“A-Abby, c’mere!” hiccups Cynthia, clearly drunk and calling for backup.

The girl grumbles beneath her breath, annoyed at her senior’s antics, but obeys anyway.

“Do you agree that Edamame is gay, sexually frustrated, and has the hots for Laurent and that’s the reason why he lashed out earlier?” the redhead asks the brunette.

“Oh wow, why are we outing him like this? Isn’t that immoral or something?” Abby deadpans. She looked like she had no idea what Cynthia was talking about.

“C-c’mon! I need to prove to blondie that this isn’t just the alcohol talking and that I-I’m actually right!” the older of the two women plead.

Abby thinks for a moment before conceding that, yes, maybe, there were signs of Edamame could have been a homosexual sexually frustrated virgin that had the misfortune of being attracted to the world’s biggest egomaniac and nymphomaniac.

“Okay… I take offense to the fact that I’ve been called both egomaniac and a nymphomaniac. I am neither, just to be clear. I still don’t believe this. A partner being attracted to me isn’t something I, of all people, would miss,” the Frenchman grumbles.

“But what if s-said partner was an amazing c-conman as well, hmm?” Cynthia teases. “Although, t-to be honest, the only reason I ever found out ‘bout it was that he always ever only took offense to your ‘manwhore’ activities than mine.”

“What’s so weird about that?”

“T-think about it. W-why the different treatment? Whores are whores, no matter t-the gender, and our Edamame hardly s-seems to be the type to discriminate. I first t-thought he was just jealous of y-you, because y-you were living the typical m-male fantasy, but e-everytime y-you had to seduce someone or brought someone home either for a p-project or for personal purposes, he’d always been very upset! Like leave the hotel, stay silent for a few days upset! Not to m-mention he’s always unusually happy w-when you t-tease him and spend time with him!”

“That doesn’t prove anything and you know it. It’s all just speculation.”

“No! I just proved that he’s n-not jealous of y-your activities! Nor d-does he hate you. So why does he dislike you having sex with other people so much to the p-point that it really makes him sad? The devil is in the details you don’t pay attention to, Laurie boy!”

“Stop calling me that, please.”

“What Cynthia is saying is making sense to me too, you know. I’ve always found Edamame’s behavior when it came to you pretty odd.” Abby agrees.

Oh great, they were ganging up on him.

“Okay, say hypothetically, that you found out Edamame is at the very least superficially attracted to me. That doesn’t mean he’s gay or anything, right? I would agree that he’s sexually frustrated, but you seem to be implying that I am the cause, something I don’t agree with.”

“Oh he’s definitely gay,” says Cynthia and Abby as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, at the same time even.

Laurent groans, fixing Abby with a glare. “How are you so sure? Just a couple of seconds ago, you were as clueless as me!”

“Just because I didn’t know what they meant before. Now, I do. I like to tease him a lot but I’ve known since LA that he was _not_ sexually attracted to me at all. That’s why I’ve always felt rather safe with him.”

“The same goes for me too,” Cynthia adds, “and b-believe me, as someone who’s living revolves around making sure p-people are attracted to me, I _know_ when someone is attracted to me. H-he’s really not.”

“Okay, and what about the sexual frustration part. He’s attracted to me, sure, and maybe he’s gay, sure. That doesn’t mean he’d want to have sex with me so bad that he’d end up being intensely sexually frustrated and cranky like what we saw earlier.”

Cynthia sighs, her expression tired. “Just fucking stop already. You’re just d-deluding yourself right now. You know we’re right. I know your b-big brain is too smart to ask all this stupid shit for real. B-but fine, I’ll humor you. Isn’t it normal to i-imagine having s-sex with someone you’re attracted to? The problem here is, with you, he doesn’t need to e-exercise his imagination as much. He sees it, hears it, and sometimes even made to clean it." She pauses here to tsk at him as if he was a child _—_ disgust, and disappointment evident in her features. 

"Ya fuck almost _everybody_ and in his mind, t-that translates to _everybody except him_. You w-wear him out. What more, earlier, you teased him _again_ that if he d-doesn’t lose his virginity soon, you’d teach him how to pick up girls. He was already at t-the edge. Abby just happened to be the last straw _crossed—_ pft.”

And then she cackles again.

“Oh, so that’s your fault then? Good. I was feeling a bit guilty about it,” the dark-skinned woman shrugs.

She's picked up the wine that Laurent’s left untouched since they started this topic. “You’re really awful. You not only rubbed in his face the skill he hates the most about you but you also offered to teach it to him.”

Laurent wants to sass that at least he wasn't one who punched Edamura in the face but he feels that being witty right now might make his face the second to be punched that night. 

Cynthia only snickers at Abby’s cutthroat comments.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Edamame knows he’s attracted to you yet. I don’t think he’s had that ‘aha’ moment just yet. That or maybe he’s just in denial. Don't feel _too_ bad too if you haven't noticed. Maybe you've always thought of him as straight and that clouded your mind to the possibility that he _might_ be gay. S-so, y’know, if you want to make any advances," she teases, wiggling her eyebrows, before locking on to him with an oddly serious stare.

"‘cause I know you’re attracted to him too, ya’ French bastard— and don’t you _dare_ deny it ‘cause I know you’re the furthest thing from straight and I-I’ve seen in the way you look at him when he isn’t looking — now’s your chance. Stop denying the truth y-you see in front of you and don't be such a pussy.”

“Ah _merde_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading this! This is my first attempt at any fanfic or any storywriting attempt in almost 6 years so I hope it was good enough for you to enjoy! English is also not my first language so forgive me for any grammar errors that I might have committed. I enjoyed The Great Pretender on Netflix so much that I just had to write something, nevermind the fact that I haven't written in ages! If you've found the work interesting or have some constructive critiques, please leave them in the reviews! Will probably update tomorrow or some time this week.


	2. hitting and missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent pursues. Makoto is stubborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is smut!  
> CW: Sexual harassment

Time doesn’t simply stop when we want it to. Unfortunately for Makoto, the morning after has rolled in far too quickly than he would have preferred. He’d been holing himself in his private quarters since he woke up with a piercing migraine at 3pm. It was now 7 pm.

To say that the past couple of hours been hell would be an understatement.

When the Japanese had risen, his brain, still too addled with deep slumber, had been immediately assaulted with hazy flashes and images of what occurred — no, _what he did —_ last night. Cue him vomiting his guts out to the nearest available trash bin.

Now filled with dread, shame, and pain (curse hangovers — _he will never be drinking again in his life_ ), Makoto lies still in his bed, his traitor brain putting yesterday’s embarrassing memories on repeat.

He bites into the hotel pillow. They were in the middle of a con. He can’t afford to mess up the team’s dynamics because he couldn’t rein in his emotions.

For the _nth_ time that day, Makoto buries his head into the pillow and screams.

* * *

Ever since _that incident_ a few weeks ago where he snapped at his colleagues, Makoto had been doing his best to stay focused on the con only.

When he finally went out of his room after locking himself in for two long days, he was greeted by Laurent who apparently had been waiting all day for him. Cynthia and Abby had headed out to find food and they had all agreed that one person needed to be left at the hotel to ‘take care of him’ when he wakes up. As it turns out, the gang had been a bit worried that something may have happened to him while he was holed inside the private room.

While he appreciated their consideration, he still found their behavior confusing. The two women treated him to food— actual authentic good Japanese food. Abby even ‘apologized’ for the face punch by permitting Makoto to punch her back (obviously, he declined). He didn't even know what he did to warrant this kind of treatment.

Laurent especially had been incredibly baffling.The blonde fussed over him and kept pestering him if he needed anything. He catered to his every need like a literal butler, even offering to feed him (which Makoto took offense to; he wasn’t an invalid). There was a strange look in the other’s eyes that he couldn’t decipher. Laurent seemed conflicted, at a loss even.

It was a first for the Japanese to see the expert conman don this kind of expression.

At the time, Makoto just thought that the Frenchman was stressed by the con. Looking back, he realizes that it was a stupid conclusion.

Laurent simply wasn’t the type to be disturbed nor distressed by plans going awry. He was always smiling and smirking even when things were going to shit (frankly, it made Makoto want to punch his teeth in).

What could’ve been the reason for the look in his eyes that day?

_Why was he even so bothered by what on earth the blonde was thinking about that day?_

Makoto groans. These days, Laurent seemed to be the only thing his mind was willing to process.

Now, that might make it seem like he was attracted to the ugly frog and _maybe_ he was (but only just a teeny tiny little bit), but this whole thing wasn’t his fault, okay? It was Laurent’s!

Virtually everything bad, good, and weird that happens in Makoto’s life can always be traced back to the French bastard. And yes, he was now including his mind being preoccupied with thoughts of Laurent as a phenomenon caused by the blondie himself.

He was just acting _so weird._ That’s saying something, considering that Makoto never had a firm gauge of normalcy, but he’s very sure, that even with his skewed standards, he's still capable enough to know that Laurent _really_ wasn’t acting like his usual self. Not at all.

Exhibit A: He was always clinging to Makoto every chance he gets. He always treats him to expensive meals even though Makoto is fully capable of paying for his share. He also gives him various trinkets and gifts, saying that he bought them because he thought they’d look good on him or that they reminded him of Makoto. He flirted with him, teased him, complimented him, called him all sorts of pet names. It was bonkers!

He was used to Laurent’s attention, sure. He had been manipulated _twice_ by the man into joining Team Confidence after all. However, the undivided attention made him uneasy. He didn’t even seem to want anything back! He knew the Frenchman’s ways. There was always a catch with Laurent.

(Makoto fears that if this continues, the catch just might be him falling for a man who doesn’t feel the same.)

(There were a few times when Makoto tried to decline Laurent’s offers but his declines also get declined.)

Exhibit B: He stopped bringing men and women back to the hotel. He even stopped flirting with the concierge woman! Him! The reincarnation of whatever-archdemon-in-hell-is-in-charge-of-sexy-times!

Makoto still finds it hard at times to believe that this is the real Laurent. There was even one instance last week when Cynthia asked him if he was a doppelganger (and if he was, to keep wherever he hid the real deal in that place for the rest of time; Laurent was unamused). Whatever or whoever inspired this change in the blonde should be praised and worshipped for doing the impossible — converting the _manwhore_ into, simply, a man.

There are so many exhibits of Laurent’s new odd behavior that Makoto reckons he could probably make a _museum_ of them.

But cut back to now. Makoto Edamura is distracted. He’s doing his best to focus on the con to distract him from the fact that he’s horribly sexually frustrated and some other terrible truths that he doesn’t want to face. But he’s distracted from his chosen way of distraction.

And now he doesn’t know what to do. He’s fucked and he knows it.

He can only deny certain things for so long, after all.

Makoto scowls at the folded piece of paper atop the three-piece suit sitting at the edge of the bed — the source of his anxiety and stress for the past couple of hours.

“ _Dearest Edamame,_

_You and I are going to an event downtown for a mission. I need to meet up with a contact but I don’t want to go alone, so I’ve chosen you to be the one to accompany me! Don’t stress yourself over the details and just try to look cute for me._

_Wear this. I have something to do right now so I’ll be picking you up later._

_Don’t miss me too much ;)_

_-L”_

* * *

The ride to the gala is a bit tense and awkward. Laurent had invited him to be his partner for this ‘scouting’ mission. He didn't know what to do, considering that it was usually Cynthia that accompanied the man to these kinds of events.

Makoto wills his heart to stop fluttering in his chest. Being in such close quarters with Laurent kept him on edge, especially considering the other man’s peculiar behavior lately. If he didn’t know the Frenchman’s antics any better, he’d say that the blonde was _courting_ him.

After all, he wasn’t blind. He was too aware of how Laurent’s orbs lingered on him, blue irises flashing with hunger — a need to devour Makoto alive. It bothered him more than he’d like to admit.

But he did know better. Makoto knew that this is most likely another one of Laurent’s games — and he refuses to lose by giving into the Frenchman's whims.

Game or not though, he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention. Because try as he might to deny it, Laurent was exactly Makoto’s type — from his stupid blonde hair that looked so soft to the touch, ocean blue bedroom eyes that you could just drown in forever, to his muscled yet lean bulk that promised endless sleepless nights.

The Frenchman was mean, manipulative, and too much of a whore, sure, but somehow, just the thought, the mere possibility, that the older man might be interested in him ignites a flame within him. It licks at his bones and settles beneath his skin, making his body yearn and tremble for a heat not from his own.

Makoto finds his eyes tracking to the figure beside him. Tonight, Laurent wore a custom-tailored slim-fit ensemble that accentuated his broad shoulders and powerful thighs, his platinum locks also handsomely slicked back for the occasion. He’d left his collar decadently open as if to tease Makoto with the expanse of skin that lay underneath.

Even when he was doing something as mundane as driving, Laurent Thierry oozed dominance and confidence so effortless it was almost a sin.

“See anything you like?” the velvety voice snaps Makoto out of his musings.

He flushes, embarrassed that he’d been caught. “You wish.”

Laurent gives a low chuckle, ruffling Makoto’s locks with his other hand. “You’re always free to look whenever you want to,” the older man teases.

He slaps the hand away and frowns at the blonde. “Don’t mess up my hair,” he snaps.

“It’s like a bird’s nest anyway,” the blonde comments endearingly.

“Hey!” Makoto whines, resentful that his hair had been insulted. It wasn't even that bad…

“Don’t worry,” comforts the other, a smirk teasing on his lips. “I still think you’re cute anyway.”

Makoto turns into a tomato.

“… shut up.”

Laurent laughs.

* * *

The charity gala takes place in the city’s fanciest hotel in the heart of the city’s most expensive district and is attended by the country’s most elusive elites and celebrities. Everyone here was dressed to impress, designer suits, gowns, and jewels with million-dollar price tags.

In such an extravagant scene, Makoto felt wildly out of place. With a plain slim fit that accentuated his small waist more than he’d like and nerdy box glasses, he looked more like a journalist who infiltrated the gala than an actual guest (which was true anyway except for the fact that he was not a part of a media team).

Luckily for him, he’d been an expert conman for quite a while now, and if there was anything he could do with ease, it was playing pretend. And so, when a potbellied middle-aged local TV star raises a champagne glass in his direction, he flashes a charming smile back.

The man moves towards him quickly, perhaps to make small conversation. Makoto inwardly rejoices. This was the best opportunity for him to practice his conversation skills in English. After all, what better place to learn how to engage in pretentious intellectual talk than this sham of a charity gala?

His breath suddenly catches in his throat when he feels a warm hand rest firmly on the small of his back. Suddenly, he is all too aware of the warm body pressed against him, the tight grip around his biceps, and the sinful lips that wandering dangerously near his nape.

Makoto’s brain goes into haywire. He vaguely remembers the blonde excusing the both of them from the celebrity before he is steered away from the hubbub at the buffet tables.

They stop in the middle of the ballroom and Makoto is too weak in the knees to even stand. His heart goes into overdrive, beating too fast and too loud — he’s absolutely sure that in this proximity, even with the orchestra playing loudly in the background, Laurent can _feel_ its rapid staccato.

“Don’t ignore me,” the Frenchman whispers in his ear, his voice raising goosebumps in Makoto’s already flushed skin.

Carefully, Makoto peels himself from Laurent and steadies himself, trying to muster as much strength in his legs as he could. He faces him, trying to ignore the fact that their faces are mere inches apart and, in an attempt to salvage his damaged pride, puts on his best act to seem unaffected by Laurent's ministrations.

The smaller Japanese man looks up and gives the taller man his best glare. “You’re an asshole.”

Laurent is unfazed. If anything, judging by the mirth in his eyes, he’s quite pleased. “Anything to get your attention, _mon cheri_.”

“W-whatever that means, I’m not it,” Makoto sputters, turning several shades of red.

It was _that_ pet name again. He googled it the other day because Laurent kept calling him that and almost choked when he found out it meant _honey_. If that guy ever finds out he searched for it online, he’s never going to let it go.

“It simply means —”

“Let’s dance!” he interrupts. Like hell he’d let that bastard fluster him more. Knowing him, he would absolutely take advantage of any weakness Makoto shows. Turning his mother language into ammunition against Makoto is definitely something he’d do.

Laurent laughs. “I never thought you’d make the first move.” He then offers his hand for the other to take. “You continue to surprise me every time.”

Makoto stares at the offered hand and reluctantly takes it. Stupid him, forgetting that this was a dance-with-your-partner kind of setting. “T-this doesn’t mean anything! T-this is just my favorite song.”

He is instantly filled with regret the moment he sees the older man’s taunting grin. “ _An der schonen, blauen Donau_ ,” Laurent says coolly as he brings Makoto closer, one large hand firmly lodged on his partner’s petite waist.

_Of course, Laurent also had to have the voice of a literal sex operator._

Makoto barely suppresses the shiver that racks up his spine as heat radiating from the side of his torso blossoms throughout his entire body. His other hand is grabbed by Laurent and guided to land on the other’s broad shoulders. He should really get it together.

“A tad overplayed but nonetheless still a majestic piece by Strauss,” the blonde adds.

“A-ah… yes, that,” Makoto mumbles, trying to keep himself from turning into a puddle as they both sway and move to the rhythm of the music.

He can’t even remember how on Earth Laurent had pronounced the name of the song, piece, whatever. “The blow do now…”

The older of the two snickers, frame shaking in amusement, lips pursed to suppress the noises that dared follow.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Makoto huffs indignantly. Laurent gives him an annoying shit-eating smile and the shorter male decides to punish him by stepping on his foot.

“Ow, ow,” the Frenchman hisses. Makoto gives him a grin of his own.

The blonde sighs and fixes him with a look of disappointment at the Japanese conman’s antics. The fingertips lingering on Makoto’s waist lose their firm hold and start running along his back and very sensitive sides, and it takes Makoto all he has to not collapse at the sudden assault.

Laurent spins Makoto back into his arms when the music reaches its climax, the position they’re in too close for comfort.

The hard defined chest pressed flush against his back, noticeable bulge he could feel grinding against his ass — Makoto had to bite back a moan.

He flinches and makes a small gasp when warm breath fans across his nape, shortly followed by a decadent growl. “Stop being so adorable. It makes it hard to hold back.”

“… I’m not adorable,” Makoto blushes. He was losing _badly._ Laurent was going around him in circles, toying with him, and he could do nothing but _melt_.

Laurent chuckles. “Yes, you are.” They continue to sway to the slow beats of the piece, Makoto hyperaware of the warm body plastered behind him.

He couldn’t let it end like this. He can’t just lose without a fight.

Makoto spins out of Laurent’s hold. Now facing each other, he advances back to the same space and tiptoes to whisper in the other’s ear. “You probably tell that to everyone you fuck anyway.”

This earns him a laugh from the blonde. Laurent pins him with those haunting azure orbs of his, pupils dilated from the sheer amount of hunger he radiated.

“Does that mean I get to fuck you in the future?” the man teases.

Makoto squirms, mouth struggling to stutter out whatever pathetic answer his hormone-addled mind has come up with. “Y-you probably wouldn’t be able to handle me anyway.”

“Big words for a virgin,” Laurent starts. The waltz starts to speed up. Makoto finds himself spun and manhandled again, ending up in a position so _much more_ intimate than the previous ones. Laurent’s hands were larger than life, firm, and dominating— strong yet delicate fingers searing his skin as they roved across the entire expanse of his back— as they pulled Makoto face-first into the taller man’s chest _._

_Makoto had tried to stop this from happening by trying to push the other man away but his hands had just gotten crushed between the two bodies, leaving him defenseless._

“Someone should really teach you your place,” the older conman says, teeth nibbling on the ridge of his partner’s aflame ear.

“Oh, and p-pray tell, where exactly is my place?” Makoto squeaks, his body trembling at the consecutive assaults.

“I’ll do you one better — I won’t just tell you,” Laurent coos, eyes vowing numerous sinful things. “Give me tonight and I’ll show you exactly where you belong.”

Makoto looks away from the other’s intense gaze. “A-are you being serious right now?”

“I’ve always been serious when it comes to you,” the older man proclaims, determined voice leaving out no room for doubt.

It’s too overwhelming for Makoto. He sputters, unable to process what Laurent is offering, and successfully wriggles out of other man’s hold.

“I’ll think about it.”

Makoto excuses himself to find the bar. He needed a drink. He can’t believe he just did that! Where on earth did he suddenly get the guts to say… all those things! Just remembering it made him cringe. He slaps his cheeks to ground him in the present.

Yes, those things happened. No, you can’t change them anymore. _Get a grip._

But on the (somewhat) positive side, he had just been able to confirm just now that Laurent was attracted to him. Laurent, the guy who seemed to find him completely boring and sexually unappealing for the past few years and the one he’d been unknowingly pining for ( _for forever_ ), had just offered to fuck him, like for real and not as a joke, and implied the possibility of a serious relationship.

Maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so stupid of him to put his hopes on the chance that this could work out, _that they could work out_. He allows a foolish smile to grace his features as he heads back to Laurent, two glasses of wine in tow. When he spots him, he also sees a busty blonde clinging to his side like a leech.

Makoto feels his heart shatter into smithereens in his chest, what little light left inside him extinguished. He grits his teeth, downs two of the glasses of wine in one go, and heads back to the bar to drink some more.

He was sipping through his 4th glass of the evening when he feels a large hand creeping around his waist. Anger rises within him, and he turns around to slap the obnoxious Frenchman when he realizes that it wasn’t his partner at all. Just as quickly as anger drains from him would shame and dread then rise to take its place. He had almost hit a completely innocent civilian. How embarrassing.

It was the man he wanted to talk to earlier! Stupid Laurent cutting off our conversation because he’s a chronic attention whore. The man was so kind and considerate too, helping Makoto by removing his suit jacket (to prevent him from getting stuffy) and by grabbing him by the waist (so that he didn't have to worry about falling down). 

He feels his inner shirt slowly escaping from the tuck on his slacks, probably because he was sliding down while the man was helping him up, you know? That's basic gravity.

He was just the slightest bit uncomfortable though when the shirt just gave up on protecting his torso and his companion had to hold on to his bare waist with his arms. Of course, he kept that to himself.

He feels bad enough already that he's relying on another person to stand up and can do nothing but give half-slurred apologies in his current state.

“It’s okay,” the man says. “You can make up for it later.”

“Huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUDUDUN! What will happen to our sunshine baby?
> 
> The smut couldn't make it this chapter, sorry! This chapter was supposed to contain the smut part but I cut it in half because 1) it was getting too long, and 2) I didn't want to make you guys wait too much (finishing the long chapter would take longer; I promised that the next chapter would be released in a week). I also didn't want to write half-assed smut (gotta make sure it's hot yakno by doing research n shit; I'm not exactly an expert at this). 
> 
> Please instead consume my best attempt at writing sexual tension as realistic as possible. Like before, please leave kudos/reviews or subscribe if you enjoyed it! IDK when I can upload the next chapter but know that it's 50% done already. Thank you again for reading!


	3. to learn, you need to unlearn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I did some minor edits in the latter quarter of the last chapter. It's just a few insignificant details but the first part here would make more sense if you did. That's all. Enjoy! /_ \

“Yes, what do you mean he’d make up for it later?” a voice Makoto knows very well appears out of nowhere. He barely suppresses the shiver that runs down his spine when he tilts his head backward and catches the bulk of the blonde French standing over his shoulder, the dangerous glint in his eyes caught by the dim auburn lighting of the ballroom. The gaze sends fire crackling down his chest, arms, legs — every nook and cranny of his body. He wants to _hide_.

The guest he’d been relying on for the last few minutes momentarily freezes and Makoto suddenly feels annoyance build inside of him. Now that he thought about it, what reason did Laurent have for heading over here with that overly intimidating presence? He was scaring the man he was talking to!

Laurent had no right to interfere with who Makoto chose to talk to, especially when his whore ass flirts with anyone remotely attractive in a ten-mile radius. He shoots Laurent his nastiest glare, silently warning him not to mess with them or else face his wrath. The blonde ignores him, instead placing a warm hand over his shoulder. The contact makes him flinch. He wishes the other man stopped touching him so casually like this—the sensation crowds his mind with static, engulfing him, eating away at what little sanity he has left.

The man beside him (whose name he’d unfortunately already forgotten) finally recovers from his initial shock and turns to properly face the stranger who popped out of nowhere. Makoto is dragged in the movement, shaking off Laurent’s hold in the process; he remembers that the only reason he was still standing was due to the thick arm looped around him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name,” the man greets, extending one unoccupied hand, looking Laurent dead in the eye. Makoto nearly loses his shit right there and then. You’d have to be blind to not recognize the madness pouring out of Laurent in waves. This man was either incredibly brave or just extremely stupid. He thinks it might be a case of the latter—no offense to the kind man but celebrities were known for being a bit slow after all.

“I’m his _partner_ ,” Laurent grits out with a fake smile, taking the hand that was offered to him and squeezes _hard_. Makoto feels it too—cringes at the sudden tense of the limb wrapped around his torso. His skin burns up at the word ‘partner’. Although it was highly probable that Laurent just said that to fuck with the guest, it still makes him feel things he’d rather not feel.

The man sputters in disbelief, shocked at Laurent’s declaration. Makoto feels azure orbs intensely tracing every line and every curve his figure, scorching at the exposed bare skin of his waist now being touched by another man. Laurent had not even touched the skin there despite his monopoly on Makoto all evening.

Their eyes briefly, Laurent’s sharp and narrowed and Makoto’s wild and frightened. Makoto quickly averts his gaze. Tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes. Damn the alcohol for turning him too emotional! Damn everything for being _too unfair_. He did nothing wrong! Last time he checked, getting drunk wasn’t a crime, nor was talking to someone other than the obnoxious blonde asshole. He wasn’t even the one who went off on his own to flirt with some random girl so why, just why, did he feel so guilty?

“And you are?” Laurent smile dissolves—he makes no attempt to hide the thinly-veiled threat—and levels the man with a glowering look before letting go of the meaty hands. The blonde moves forward, closing the already small distance between the three of them. Makoto nearly keens when he catches a whiff of the luxury exotic French perfume Laurent always uses.

In this proximity, the heat Laurent’s body radiates soaks in his skin, enveloping him like a warm blanket. Cold gentle hands find themselves on his burning cheeks, tilting his face upwards to wipe away at the tears that formed earlier. His eyes glaze, held hostage by the penetrating blue set.

Like this, he forgets the world beyond the both of them. He is only reminded that they are, in fact, not alone when the man beside him coughs and hurriedly excuses himself (which is most likely the best decision considering who he was talking to; the blonde would con the life out of him) (he also fails to notice the growing number of onlookers invested in the _interesting_ event happening near the bar). The abrupt removal of the support on his torso almost makes him fall to the floor.

The blonde instantly eliminates every inch of space between them, one large hand slivering underneath the thin layer of his white undershirt to cradle the small of his back. The warmth of the hand branding the bare flesh of his waist feels like perfection, akin to two pieces of a puzzle connecting, and he lets out a gasp. Another hand cups his cheek still, thumb dragging back and forth across smooth the skin, once-twice-thrice pressing against the edge of his lips.

A firm thigh wedges between his legs when his knees threaten to buckle under the weight of Laurent’s assault. The hand on his cheek moves to palm the back of his head, long digits burying themselves on his messy, unkempt hair. Laurent tugs on the tufts of hair, tilting Makoto’s head to the side, and whispers. “We’re going home. _Now._ ”

“Okay,” Makoto croaks, voice only just audible. Laurent immediately grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers together, and drags him to the entrance. Inside his mind, he screams. Is it happening? _Is this really happening?_ From this angle, all he can see is the muscular build of Laurent’s back, his broad imposing shoulders, narrow torso—Makoto wonders what it feels to climb it, drag his nails across it as Laurent fucked him. It was pathetic really that all it took the was a few words, tender caresses here and there, for him to give in to the blonde.

Ever since his father’s imprisonment and his mother’s succumb to cancer, Makoto has felt empty, devoid of feeling. Fate had mercilessly taken away everything from him, leaving him no time to recover from each of its unjust painful blows. Soon, he gave up; he was tired of chasing after a just and fair life like a stupid dog. Being a conman made ends meet. He was good at it too. Of course, he knew his mother would disapprove, but the fact of the matter was that his mother wasn’t even here anymore. She can’t even be alive to be disappointed at him.

Whether he descends into the depths of hell because of his actions, no one will care because Makoto had no one left. He was no one—fated to be alone, unwanted.

But right now, Makoto feels everything _but._ He had carefully maintained his confident façade to hide the crushing abyss inside him, fooling everyone – himself included. And yet, all it took for his mask to slip and crumble through his fingers was Laurent, his electric gaze, careful touches. It leaves him greedier, craving, drooling, absolutely wanton in the need to be filled with _more_ of everything Laurent can offer.

For the first time in his life, Makoto wants to combust with the emotions this stupidly handsome intelligent seductive conman is bringing out of him. Dark promises simmer beneath the dangerous blue of Laurent’s eyes, saturated with want. A beast lurks there, itching to devour him whole.

He squeezes Laurent’s tense grip; the blonde paces faster. Makoto is just as starving, just as desperate with the need to devour Laurent too.

When the silver chrome glimmer of Laurent’s Mercedes finally becomes visible, Makoto’s heart begins hammering against his ribcage and he momentarily freezes in place. _This was really happening._ Was it too late to back out? Would Laurent hate him if he did? He was just a virgin after all. How could someone like him, fumbling and inexperienced, possibly satisfy someone like Laurent?

Once again, Makoto fights the urge to sob but the alcohol in his system makes it hard. Tears well again on the corner of his eyes, overcome by the onslaught of emotions. Makoto curses himself for his weakness. He doesn’t realize they’ve reached the car, nor that they’ve stopped. He’s only suddenly aware of the pair strong arms around him, pulling his small frame into a warm tight hug. Cold fingers wipe away at the tears, soft lips kissing the top of his eyelids.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” Laurent soothes and Makoto sniffles. Laurent’s warmth coaxes too many feelings out of him.

“It’s really okay? You’re not mad at me?” Makoto looks up, finally finding the courage to ask.

Laurent gives him a confused expression, face torn between amused and pained. “Why would I ever be mad at you?” he implores almost incredulously, one hand raising to gently touch Makoto’s face once more, tucking a stray strand of hair behind the smaller man’s ear.

Makoto pouts, half-resentful at the disbelieving tone of Laurent’s voice, half-relieved that the other man was not upset at him. “Because I don’t know if I want to have sex yet and, worse, I ruined the mood by crying? Isn’t that what you meant by _it’s okay?_ ” he spits out, embarrassed that he even had to say it.

Laurent, being the insensitive bastard that he was, only chuckles at his crisis. It makes Makoto want to kick him in the shin. He settles for stepping on the other man’s branded Italian leather shoes; it gets Laurent to stop. Makoto shoots him a glare, silently daring him to laugh at him once again.

“ _Mon cheri_ , I was not laughing at you.” Makoto’s glower does not ease. “No, I promise, I wasn’t. I was laughing at the absurdity of the situation.”

“When I invited you over to this event with me, I only wanted to spend more time with you. I wanted to tease you, pull out more reactions and expressions,” smiles Laurent bitterly. “But earlier, I put you in danger. Who knows what would’ve happened had I not arrived when I did? _That man,_ he approached you while you were a drunk incoherent pliant mess, touched you in places that even I would dare not explore without your explicit permission, wanted to bring you home to warm his bed. It makes me so angry that I let that happen to you. If anything, I’m the one angry at myself…” the blonde trails off, face pinched in a pained expression.

This surprises Makoto who barely thought of what happened to him in the gala as something relevant to their current situation. He hadn’t even considered that he was being sexually harassed…

“Of course, it goes without saying that if you don’t want to have sex, then we won’t,” Laurent continues, pinning him once again with those bright eyes of his, now burning intensely with an emotion Makoto dared not name. “When we do it, it has to be when you’re ready, when you know for yourself that you _really_ want it. I do want you, _mon petit lapin,_ more than anything, more than _anyone_. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you and I’ve been holding myself back for too long, but I’d wait for as long as you need. I won’t settle for anything less than your full consent.”

Laurent’s declaration fills him with heat anew. Makoto’s heart swells in his chest, his stomach twisting itself as butterflies take over.

“Is that true? Even if I told you to wait for ten years and not have sex with anybody else?” asks Makoto, fiddling with his fingers, not knowing what to say.

The stoic expression Laurent dons cracks. “I was thinking three years max actually,” he jokes, earning him a light pinch from Makoto. “I can wait for however long you need. I like sex, that’s true, but between sex and you, I’ve had enough of sex. It’s you I can’t get enough of. I can’t _not_ have you, Edamura.”

Makoto gulps, eyes darting at everything that _wasn’t_ Laurent. His words escape him and he stands there awkwardly, still in Laurent’s arms, trying his best to calculate his next move with whatever rationality the wine has left him. He wants this. He _knows_ in his bones that he does. What more, he’s known it for a long time, despite his attempts to vanish the obvious fondness and attraction he felt for the blonde. He wants Laurent, _all of him_ , and now that he knows Laurent feels the same, for quite a long time now even, why should they have to wait?

Makoto licks his lips, swallowing his pride, throat gone dry. “What if I want you now?”

He looks up to meet Laurent’s eyes as he is caught off guard, sees the azure set widen in surprise and then darken in hunger, finding himself once again captive by the depth of the desire that lingers there. Makoto knows Laurent is holding back for his sake right now and that it would be the wise choice to not provoke him.

However, when he sees the tense set of Laurent’s shoulders, the subtle shift his posture takes from languid and sensual to rigid and strained, knowing it’s due to holding back from ravaging him right there and then, he feels _powerful_. _Was this how Laurent felt on a regular basis?_ How many people has he made tremble in their longing to be with him? How many eyes have glazed over in anticipation due to his ministrations? And how many has he pushed and teased to the brink until they beg and pled, only to deprive them of what they wanted at the last minute? There are numerous men and women out there, more attractive, more intelligent, and more successful than him, who can only dream of holding any kind of advantage over Laurent, chasing after phantom kisses and touches.

Right now, with how Laurent is looking at him, touching him, holding back despite the unadulterated want rolling off of him in waves, and letting him, the inexperienced virgin with virtually nothing to offer, take the reins instead—Makoto feels special.

Makoto doesn’t know if it’s because he was too drunk on the wine or the tension hanging heavy in the air, maybe both, but he gets a sudden burst of courage—he leans in, looking up to meet Laurent’s dark eyes, grabs the silver silk tie of his suit, tiptoes, and closes the distance between their lips. His eyes fall shut at the electricity that shoots through his body, making every single nerve end tingle, sing, and hum at the pleasant feel of Laurent’s lips against his. The kiss is short, too short, his inexperience getting the best of him, but he doesn’t lament for long. Laurent flips them, pushing Makoto’s back against the cold surface of the car, pinning him once again with those sultry blue orbs.

“Then you better cancel all your plans for tomorrow,” purrs Laurent, tilting Makoto’s face up with long deft fingers. “Because by the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk properly for a week, _mon cheri_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THE SMUT GOES NEXT WEEk i rllY proMIsE （；´д｀）ゞ
> 
> It was a struggle trying to write this chapter. Mainly bc I wasn't planning this setup scene to be quite this long but Laurent is so fucking flirty this bitch (that and the smut scene intimidates me; I need more research pls give me time to deliver /_ \\).  
> So for now, I guess enjoy more sexual tension ;A; Thank you for reading again! Please leave a kudos or a review if you liked it. Reading your comments and knowing you all appreciate it is really the highlight of my day.


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